


You Promised I Wouldn't Fall

by inK_AddicTion



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Oneshot, Pitch this is not how you relationship, Poor Sandy, Sorry guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inK_AddicTion/pseuds/inK_AddicTion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Guardians have been gone for a long time, and Sandy is all alone. Well, not quite alone- Pitch Black is still there, and Sandy has gotten used to what passes as the Nightmare King's companionship by now. But sometimes on days like this, all he can do is remember times when it was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Promised I Wouldn't Fall

Pitch Black is pressing lazy kisses against Sandy's shoulder, that dark voice murmuring how sweet Sandy's skin tastes, and obligingly, Sandy rests his head against his narrow shoulder, giving Pitch easier access to the warm gold curve of Sandy's neck. Pitch's hands dig into Sandy's soft hips appreciatively, hard enough that Sandy knows he will have bruises later.

Sandy is not paying attention to Pitch's ministrations, though he allows Pitch free reign. He is sat on Pitch's lap, resting against the Nightmare King's firm chest, hands folded, with Pitch's arms snaked around him possessively and his long grey fingers tracing teasing patterns on Sandy's thigh. Sandy is looking up at the sky.

It's a beautiful Indian sunset, as beautiful as they get these days. Faint smudges of scarlet tint the heavy clouds of smog lurking low in the sky dark rose; if Sandy was feeling poetic he'd compare them to the exact belladonna shade of Pitch's blush. Orange skirts the most threatening formations, appearing in weak patches in the roiling blackness. Smoke coils like a living thing in the cathedral of murk, playing at columns and arches in the poisonous vapour. Heat hangs close to the ground in a shimmering wave of soot.

Sandy remembers days, many centuries ago now, when the sky was a living canvas of vivid fire, an explosion of vibrant, pulsing reds and flushing baby pinks, calm mellow blues and depthless marine, orange so bright and fresh it looked as if he could bite into it and feel sweet citrus on his tongue. He remembers proud, aloof denizens of the air- albatrosses with wingspans longer than his entire body, soaring sparrowhawks, darting kites, noble eagles. He remembers wolves, tongues lolling from their jaws, chasing after prey, he remembers slinking tigers and lizards with jewelled scales. He remembers herds of wild horses breaking into frenzied gallops, manes and tails streaming.

Nowadays, the only times humans see horses are in their nightmares.

The dreams Sandy sends out are nothing like they used to be. There is no life, no imagination, no  _wonder_ or  _hope_ or  _fun_ left in them- dreams of perfect test scores, dreams of good jobs paying good money, dreams of never having to fall into the relentless grind of poverty in the dead city-metropolis Earth has become. But these are the perfect dreams the youth of this earth want.

Sandy tries to grant special dreams to those precious few wishers in these mechanical times- dreams of fairies and magic, dreams of creatures long gone, lost to the slow deterioration of earth's natural life, but it's difficult. The old majestic creatures Sandy adores are more likely to strike fear in their hearts than wonder. These days, the only thing alive on Earth besides humans are the odd pest.

Perhaps Pitch senses that Sandy isn't thinking about him, because his teeth scrape lightly against Sandy's neck, a warning. Pitch doesn't like to be ignored, Sandy knows this, but it's difficult to focus on his demanding partner today of all days. Today is the day, thousands of years ago, the last of the Guardians and Sandy's last friend Toothiana faded away into nothingness.

Pitch doesn't remember, and even if he did, Sandy doubts he would care. He had never cared for the Guardians, had mocked them relentlessly as slowly the hearts and belief of humans turned to their cold science and logic, spurning childhood tales of the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Jack Frost and Santa Claus. Jack, their newest member, had been the first to disappear, choosing to die rather than change his ways to prolong his belief, but make winter harsh and cruel. Then it had been Bunny, able to hide less and less eggs until one day Sandy had gone to visit him and found the Warren lifeless dust. North had been heartbreaking, knowing his turn was coming shortly after Bunny, bravely soldiering on despite the prevailing weariness that crept into his old bones. One Boxing Day North had turned in for his after-Christmas nap and never woke up.

After that, Tooth and Sandy had known it was a matter of time. They'd held out together as long as they could, Sandy often carrying Tooth's little fairies on his dreamcloud as he went around his rounds, and ruthlessly abusing his powers to keep belief in Tooth as high as possible. The slow wasting was even more terrible to watch without the other Guardians to bolster their spirits; a jade feather a day, until Tooth was little more than a rattling, land-bound crone with rheumy pink eyes. Sandy had been there when she had faded away, not daring to leave her alone in case he missed her passing. He'd held her hand until it was too insubstantial for him to feel anymore.

And then Sandy was all alone.

No new Guardians had named, their oldest was gone, a lifeless rock in the sky, nothing more than an aching memory for a dreamweaver in a rapidly disappearing world of spirits. Sandy never lost power, and cursed his powers even as he was bitterly grateful to them. Anyone who had had a good dream believed in their power, believed in Sandy. It kept him alive and strong enough to beat back Pitch, though some days it was Sandy running from a gleeful Pitch, cackling his victory.

They'd fought frequently, and Sandy admitted to seeking out the Nightmare King, desperate for just- someone to look at him and recognise his presence, even if it meant a brutal fight. He was terrified of spending those endless years alone like he had done after he had woken stranded on Earth, slowly losing himself in his dreams until Sandy could no longer tell what was reality, if reality existed.  _Alone._

Of course, Pitch could feel his fear.

Smirking all the while, he'd let his eyes drag over Sandy's body as if he was a juicy piece of meat, dark tongue darting out to wet thin lips, and suggested a different way. Sandy had been confused at first, not understanding Pitch's insinuations, but had agreed to the offer nonetheless. Dreams and nightmares, united...

He had known Pitch would have an ulterior motive for offering companionship when he had accepted, but once he finally understood, Sandy was more than hesitant. It wasn't that Pitch wasn't beautiful, all creatures are beautiful to Sandy, and he's always admired the Nightmare King's grace and jagged elegance, but stars like Sandy were sexless creatures and he had never felt the need to experience such a human act before. He has always been faintly mystified why the humans were so obsessed with it. It all looks rather boring to Sandy.

But Pitch was insistent, he pointed out silkily how Sandy's hesitance was clearly just hold-overs from their years of fighting- didn't Sandy want to trust Pitch? Sandy had agreed then, allowed himself to be taken up in Pitch's arms and his robe tugged away. The first time had been painful, messy and a bit degrading, but once it was over, Pitch held Sandy close, kissed his forehead tenderly, whispered how perfect Sandy was, how good he was at pleasing Pitch. Sandy had listened, as silent as ever, trying to quiet the sickness in his stomach at the thought of having to endure it again.

He feels guilty when he denies Pitch sex just because he doesn't want it, it is clearly something Pitch enjoys even if Sandy doesn't quite understand why. Eventually, Sandy learned how Pitch liked to be pleased best, grew used to the rough, hungry touches. He learned to appreciate his golden sand against Pitch's grey skin, and he certainly appreciates Pitch's cheerier moods.

"Earth to Sandman," Pitch purrs in his ear, and his hold around Sandy's leg has gone tight and forceful. Sandy jumps a little, pulled back into the present, and apologetically kisses Pitch's cheek. Pitch hums and licks the shell of Sandy's ear, his tight grip loosening to soothing strokes, and Sandy knows he is forgiven.

He smiles at Pitch, and Pitch indulges him with an almost fond gleam in his yellow eyes, allowing a catlike quirk of the lips that reveals his pointed teeth.

"What's got into you today?" Pitch asks lazily, casually corrupting a corner of Sandy's robe and watching the darkness spread with satisfaction. "You're not normally this  _quiet."_ He grins, sharp and sudden, and Sandy rolls his eyes and huffs silently. Pitch's bad humour certainly hasn't improved over the ages.

He squirms, hating the feel of the corrupted nightmare sand against his skin. He can hear the tortured dreams screaming, and with a gentle touch, restores them to gold. Pitch frowns, and Sandy compensates by allowing his robe to pool around his waist. As expected, Pitch's eyes darken immediately, roving over Sandy's exposed flesh with all the hunger of a predator stalking his prey. Sandy doesn't know what Pitch likes about his bare skin so much, but if it keeps Pitch happy and interested in him, he's willing to endure.

" _Look_ at you," Pitch murmurs, reaching towards him almost reverently, sliding his hands up Sandy's smooth back to trace a thin pale scar that makes a long-forgotten ache twinge in his spine. Sandy shifts uncomfortably, he hates it when Pitch touches the old scar, but Pitch hushes him with a finger to his lips.

Suddenly Pitch  _digs_ his nail into the scar, and Sandy yelps soundlessly, lurching away from the touch and into Pitch, shaking as remembered waves of fear and cold batter at his self-control. Pitch moans softly, strokes Sandy's hair gratefully. "You taste  _delicious,"_ he whispers raggedly in Sandy's ear. Sandy can feel Pitch's erection hardening against him.

Sandy shudders in his grasp, world reduced to lightning sparks of panic. The bone-deep cold of space settles into his bones, and before he knows what is happening, ruined India is gone, replaced by a vision from the past.

Sandy is in his star, wrestling with the controls. They are streaking across the sky, a burning nimbus of gold, a bright beacon to the darkness that lashes with harpoons behind him. His star is worried, desperate to save her precious pilot, and Sandy knows he mustn't get too near the little blue and green planet called Earth, lest he get caught up in the gravitational orbit and crash.

The Nightmare King has finally found him, his dark Galleon cutting through the darkness with ease, so close Sandy can see the gleam of teeth in his smile and the burning gold in his eyes. In his hand he carries a harpoon, and their eyes meet as the Nightmare King begins to swing it.

Terror touches Sandy for the first time that day. He escapes from the Nightmare King, but never forgets that black skin, hungry golden eyes, remnants of polluted armour only one man had ever worn. He plummets to the earth, watches gravity take hold of his little star and turn it into a flaming ball of death, the blistering heat that melted and warped the cockpit, his star's howls of pain. Sandy screams, screams so loud and long his throat is torn and blood vessels in his eyes pop from the volume.

Many, many years later he will wake up and realise he can no longer speak, and when he does try, all he can hear is that scream, shrill and desperate and terrified, echoing in his ears as he  _fell..._

Pitch gasps his name, comes untouched, rutting against Sandy's soft form. The action breaks Sandy out of his panic-induced stupor, though all he can do is stare glassily at Pitch's flushed face, those dark amber-gold eyes. Sandy is pale and shaky, and he cannot quell the fear that instinctively spikes when Pitch's arms encircle him, that dark chocolate voice reassuring him how wonderful he is, how good he makes Pitch feel.  _I'm good,_ he thinks hazily,  _I'm good._

He remembers vague thoughts of the Guardians shaking him out of his memories when they got too much. Bunny with pungent hot chocolate so strong Sandy thought it could strip bark from trees, North a comforting hug and a clap on the back, Tooth, whispering in his ear until he awoke, and Jack, a short, sharp cold. But there was always an understanding smile and the promise he would never, ever fall again.

"This is where the fairy used to live, isn't it?" Pitch asks him, still rubbing soothing circles against Sandy's stomach. His gut twists violently at the thought of the others once more, and he closes his eyes with a shuddering breath.

 _You promised,_ thought Sandy, feeling small in the Nightmare King's embrace.

Pitch doesn't like being ignored, and Sandy knows this, so he nods.

Pitch scoffs. "Decrepit old place," he scorns. "Good riddance. You're much happier with me, aren't you, little star? We're made for each other- what goes better together than dreams and nightmares?" He leans in close and kisses Sandy, surprisingly gentle. Sandy deepens the kiss, because he knows if he doesn't Sandy might have to answer the question, and he doesn't know anymore.

Sandy doesn't mind kissing so much, in fact, he rather likes it, but he has to be careful of Pitch's teeth. Pitch likes to  _bite_ and Sandy doesn't like the taste of his blood as much as Pitch does. Pitch's lips are soft and thin, and he tastes like lush dark wine, rich and overpowering. His sharp teeth scrape against Sandy's lip as his long tongue strokes Sandy's own, and Sandy feels his large grey hands tangle in his wild golden hair.

When they break apart, Pitch's eyes are hooded and warm. "Let's go home," he urges quietly. His pupils dilate as he looks Sandy over. "I want to make you  _beg."_

Sandy smiles and lets Pitch scoop him up in his arms and call his shadows. They step into the shadows, a prickle of fear washing over Sandy despite himself.

He has never got used to shadow-travel. It feels like falling.


End file.
